


Setting Suns and Rising Stars

by woahvechkin



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, M/M, alexs arm is broken, bed sharing, sorta - Freeform, thomas is tired
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-19
Updated: 2017-01-19
Packaged: 2018-09-18 15:00:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9390122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/woahvechkin/pseuds/woahvechkin
Summary: All Thomas Jefferson wanted to do was take a nap, but of course Alexander Hamilton had to ruin any prospects of that.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is based off the sentence prompts post on tumblr by toxixpumpkin

Jefferson was in the middle of a nice, well deserved nap when the door to his dorm room slammed open. He startled awake, tired eyes wildly scanning the room before settling on the small seething man in front of him. He immediately felt ten times more exhausted.

“Hamilton, what do you want,” he asked, propping himself up in bed with one elbow, blinking tiredly.

“I swear to God I am going to wring Charles Lee’s neck if he tries to fucking pull this shit again. You will NOT believe what he said to me today!” As he shouted, he gesticulated wildly, which wasn’t working out very well due to his left arm being bound by a cast. The dumbass broke his arm trying to chase a squirrel up a tree. He claimed it had his essay in his mouth but honestly? Who would believe that.

Jefferson allowed himself to plop back down on his bed and turn so he was facing away from Hamilton. “Go ahead,” he mumbled into his pillow. “Rant away.”

They had a strange dynamic. They hated one another and debated constantly, yet they always came to each other first when they bore news. Jefferson couldn’t put his finger on when they specifically began doing that or how, and he doubts Hamilton remembered either. It had become somewhat of a tradition of theirs, and hell if they knew why they still upheld it. Maybe because knowing that though they had closer friends, those friends would feel inclined to tell them they weren’t in the wrong about any situation. Something like a friend bias. But with them, their rivalry kept them brutally honest. That was the extent of it now, though, wasn’t it? A simple rivalry. There didn’t seem to be any bite left in their insults. He was afraid he began to almost enjoy Hamilton’s company.

Of course it was then he realized that Hamilton had finished speaking and was eagerly awaiting his reply.

“Well? Can you believe that asshole or what?” 

Jefferson rolled himself over and looked at him blearily. Hamilton’s hair was up in a ponytail with loose hairs flying around his face. He was red with anger, and he wore the same clothes as the day before. Jefferson scrunched his nose up in disgust, but there was a tiny nagging part of him saying he looked absolutely adorable; He willed it away the best he could. 

“I zoned out while you were speaking, what now?”

Hamilton huffed frustratedly, blowing a few fly-away strands of hair.

“I said,” he enunciated. “Charles Lee decided that it was appropriate to make petty jabs at me about my mother, calling her a whore and whatnot, and when I stood up for myself, guess who got kicked out of class? Me, that’s who.” He swore under his breath as he turned and kicked a pillow that had been haphazardly thrown to the ground, successfully working himself up again. 

There was a beat of silence as Jefferson stared at Hamilton’s back, watching his breaths get steadier and more even and his fists unclench. He seemed to have calmed down, when he said, “I’m gonna kick his ass.”

Jefferson dragged a hand across his face and muttered, “Oh my god, I am too tired for this shit.”

“No,” Hamilton said, turning back around. There was a fire of determination lit in his eyes, and Jefferson knew he wouldn’t be able to be talked down from this. “I’m gonna do it. I swear it on my mother’s grave, I will break Lee’s nose before this day is over.”

“Hamilton,” He said slowly. “Your arm is in a cast. There’s no way you could fight anybody in this state.”

“So what if I broke my arm,” he stated indignantly. “I’m still doing it.” 

Jefferson wanted to get up and shake some sense into him, but he knew that even if common sense was manifested into a person and slapped him he still wouldn’t listen. That was one quality Jefferson could hate about him. Mark it on the board, boys.

Instead, he waved him over, and at Hamilton’s confused expression he said in exasperation, “Get your ass over here, Christ almighty.” Though he still looked confused, he cautiously approached the bed where Jefferson lay. Jefferson stuck his hand out at him, and when he was met with more looks of confusion, grabbed Hamilton’s good hand and pulled him onto the bed. The shorter man yelped in surprise as he landed softly on his rival, protectively keeping his injured arm out of harm's way. 

Almost as soon as Hamilton landed, Jefferson had his arms wrapped around his waist and pulled flush against him. Hamilton made a sound akin to a squawk and tried to wriggle out of his grasp, but Jefferson’s grip was too strong.

“I’m not letting you go until you promise you won’t do anything stupid like beat up Lee,” Jefferson hissed, pressing harder on Hamilton’s waist to keep him in place.

“You know I can’t do that.”

“Then I guess you'll just have to stay here for the rest of the day.” He grinned down at the angry man, who tried to wriggle out of his grasp a couple more times before slumping against his chest. 

They laid like that for about thirty minutes, and Jefferson thanked the college deitys that he didn't have any classes that day. He looked down at the man curled in his arms to find that he had fallen asleep, his breaths deep and even. His eyelashes fluttered against his cheek with every breath, and Jefferson could feel his heart melting.

It was rare to see him so peaceful and so--asleep. The man was always going eighty miles a minute, writing down everything he could whenever he could wherever he could. But now, as he laid in Jefferson’s arms, in his bed, he looked the most at ease he had ever seen him. 

Slowly, Jefferson felt himself drifting back off into sleep. 

He woke up three hours later to the sun having set and Alexander’s wide brown eyes staring back at him. Jefferson cocked an eyebrow at him and-wait. When did he start calling him Alexander?

In his moment of self panic, he didn't realize Hamilton had started speaking.

“...and I just hope that you don't actually start to hate me after saying that,” he chuckled.

Jefferson blinked slowly at him, not having caught any of what he said.

“You zoned out again didn't you,” Hamilton said monotonously. He looked a little more than pissed.

He smiled sheepishly, but held tightly when Hamilton began to roll away, obviously unhappy. “No please, I swear I'll listen this time.”

Hesitantly, Hamilton rolled back to him. He looked down at where his hand laid between them.

“I don't actually hate you,” he breathed after a tense silence. Jefferson began to laugh, because, really? That was it? But Hamilton cut him off as he continued talking. “I mean, I don't actually hate you because I think you're the first person who I've been one hundred percent honest with and not gotten super dick-ish replies. You're brutally honest, sure, but you don't lie and I think over the time we've known each other, I've fallen for you.” Jefferson stared at him in a shocked silence, and Hamilton dragged and hand across his face and groaned, “Ugh, I sound like a gross chick flick.” 

Jefferson grabbed his wrist, pulling his hand from his face. “Alexander,” he started, affection seeping through. “While that wasn't the most eloquent you've ever been, I know what you mean. I feel the same way.” Alexander’s eyes went wide and shot up to meet Jefferson’s.

“You do?”

“Yes, Alexander, I do.”

A wide grin split across his face, and damn if that wasn't the most beautiful thing Jefferson had ever seen. Alexander leaned forward and met Jefferson’s lips with his, slow and sweet, and absolutely perfect.

They lay like that for the rest of the night, neither wanting to get up.

“I'm still gonna kick Charles Lee’s ass.”

“Shut the fuck up, Alexander.”


End file.
